


I'll Meet You There

by AlyKat



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: A demon speaks of love to an angel?, Angel having existential crisis, Angel/Demon Relationship, Aziraphale is a cry-maxer, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Kiss, First Time, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Not even Crowley wants to take credit for Sodom and Gamorrah, Post-Apocalypse, Pride in London, Top Crowley (Good Omens), author isn't great at writing smut, just has trouble writing if for some reason, obligatory love confession fic, will read it no problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 09:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19809163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat
Summary: Aziraphale had never once, in all his years, thought anything would be worth falling over.Until now.





	I'll Meet You There

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo. I've never written for this fandom before, in fact, I barely even knew who Crowley and Aziraphale were until I watched Good Omens on Amazon. I've never read the book, but I've done my best. There may be more fics for these two from me in the future. We'll have to see. It took me painfully long just to eek out this one. I hope I've done them justice though, and I hope you'll all enjoy it. 
> 
> This is unbeta'd, so forgive me for it being rather rough around the edges.

“Crowley?” 

Aziraphale’s voice was soft and thoughtful as they sat together in the bookshop, relaxing after a day of being out in the sun and taking in all the festivities in Trafalgar Square. Crowley kept his head tilted back against the arm of the couch he was currently sprawled out upon and never bothered to open his eyes. 

“Mm?” He hummed in answer. 

There was a small pause before Aziraphale continued with, “Do you suppose they’re right?”

“Who’s right?” 

“Those people at the parade today. The ones shouting all those horrible things and holding the terrible signs.” 

_ Oh. _ Thought Crowley with a small flinch.  _ Those people… _

“Could it be possible,” Aziraphale continued on, none the wiser to the dread already growing in the pit of Crowley’s stomach, “that they’re right? Is...I mean...did your side have anything to do with...with…”

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, one dark eyebrow arched above the rim of the sunglasses. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked where this was going, but something told him they were about to have a Conversation. One that required more attention than just noncommittal hums. “‘With…’ what?” 

He watched as Aziraphale’s eyes darted back down to the book sitting in his lap. Pink had started to tint the tips of the angel’s ears in the most endearing way. When he finally spoke again, his answer left Crowley speechless. 

“Homosexuality.” 

Yes, that’s where Crowley had been afraid Aziraphale was going. He sat stock still for a moment, elbows resting on his knees as he stared straight at his angel. An angel who Crowley had, once before, said was so clever but so stupid. Aziraphale spent his life with his nose stuffed into books, soaking in whatever knowledge he could get. Everything from non-fiction to academic journals to the works of Bram Stoker, Jane Austin, and Mark Twain. He had a collection of first edition prophecy books he was dreadfully pleased with, as well as several copies of misprinted Bibles (many of which Crowley had found for him throughout the years; he was a demon, he had his ways). Yet despite all this -- or perhaps  _ in spite _ of it all -- Aziraphale remained soft. He continued to hold a bit of innocence and naivety, even after 6,000 years. 

Crowley stared Aziraphale down for a moment, trying hard to weigh his answer carefully before opening his mouth. Not something, might he add, that he was overly good at. 

“Angel…” the endearment spilled from his lips on a heavy exhale of breath. “Hell wants nothing to do with love, you know that. They’re not going to be involved in deciding who can love who. This was all your lot. Besides, animals can be gay and they get a non-stop flight right upstairs if I’m not mistaken.”

Aziraphale shifted in his chair, his book forgotten. 

“True, but…” he frowned in thought, brows scrunching together before relaxing. “I was thinking about it a bit and, the Almighty  _ did _ destroy Sodom and Gomorrah, and--”

“And you were  _ there _ for that!” Exclaimed Crowley, pushing himself upright again in agitation. “You got Lot and his family out of there. You know why those damned towns were destroyed. Hell has a special place for would-be rapist. Those towns were genuinely  _ bad.  _ No, worse than that, they were the epitome of Hell on Earth. The amount of Evil running through there was...was...it was...it was enough that  _ I _ didn’t even  _ pretend _ to take credit for it!”

He watched as Aziraphale sat still as a statue across from him, his eyes downcast but still broadcasting all the emotions swirling around inside. Aziraphale never could keep what he was feeling hidden. Not like Crowley could. The angel’s heart had forever been on his sleeve, tender and exposed and vulnerable. There was never anything there to protect it from being torn to shreds on a daily basis. It had always brought out a fierce protective streak in Crowley that the demon tried very hard to ignore and deny. Especially to himself. 

Crowley pushed himself off the couch and made his way to the shelf where Aziraphale kept the crystal tumblers and a decanter of very fine scotch. He poured a bit for himself before glancing back to Aziraphale, shoulders slumping when he saw the way the other’s body seemed to be curling in on itself. Under normal circumstances, Crowley would have poured them both some scotch and brought the decanter with him back to the couch so that they could get good and properly sloshed. The way Aziraphale held himself in that moment though, it told Crowley perhaps there was need for a more sober conversation; something comforting and warm. He miracled up a mug of cocoa in that silly white angel wing cup and slowly made his way back to the couch. 

He waited for the Aegean eyes he loved so much to meet his own, and for Aziraphale to take the offered mug with a weak smile, before he settled himself back down on the couch and continued. “What’s brought this on, anyway? Why are you suddenly so concerned about what the Almighty might think of homosexuals?”

Aziraphale took a long sip from his mug before setting it aside carefully, not yet ready to meet Crowley’s gaze. “Those people at the parade, today,” he murmured, “Standing there screaming out how God hates homosexuals and spouting off Leviticus, and --” 

Crowley nearly spit his drink back into his glass as he choked and coughed. 

“ _ Leviticus _ ?!” His voice cracked and jumped as he stared across the space between them. “Angel, listen to yourself! Even I know Leviticus is beyond outdated and obsolete! Most of that blasted Old Testament is, right?”

“Well...I--” 

“No. Listen here, Angel.” Crowley pushed himself off the couch once more, this time in order to kneel in front of his angel. He tossed his sunglasses off to the side, his head dipped enough for him to make eye contact. “I’m a demon. I don’t feel love, but even I can’t deny that -- oh I can’t believe I’m saying this -- love is love. There’s nothing unnatural or demonic behind it if two people love each other, no matter their gender. You understand?” 

It wasn’t a lie, per se. Crowley truly believed as a demon he didn’t feel love, didn’t know how to love. He just didn’t know that he’d been feeling it everyday for the last 6000 years. It wasn’t something he acknowledged. Fondness.  _ Reluctant _ fondness. That was what he felt every time he saw Aziraphale, he told himself. 

Aziraphale lifted his eyes enough to look out from under thick dark lashes. His lips pressed together in a tight line to keep the smile that was building up inside of him at bay. When he spoke, his voice was soft, reverent. 

“Crowley…” he breathed, “It sounds to me like perhaps you feel more love than you’d like to admit…” 

Crowley scoffed as he pushed himself back to his feet and reached for the decanter once more. “And you’re far too concerned with whether the Almighty is going to send all the gays straight to Hell. They’d have a real overcrowding problem down there if that were the case.” 

“Yes. I suppose you’re right.” 

Leaning back into the couch, Crowley watched as Aziraphale slowly brought his attention back down to the book in his lap and began to read again. He let his mind wander back to earlier in the day, when they’d been out together, walking the streets of London and finding themselves swept up in the festive atmosphere of Pride in London. 

Now, one would think that such an event would be the perfect place for an angel and a demon to be. Both would be able to be fully in their element there. Aziraphale in spreading love and being perfectly wonderful to every couple and family he came across, no matter their gender, color, or orientation. While Crowley could slip in a bit of discord and upset here and there. Nothing major, just enough to keep his status of demon. One would even think he’d revel in the sight of the protesters with their signs and megaphones and slurs and hateful language. All self-righteous and religious to the point of being fanatical over it. The damning curses to all who were present. Crowley should have been basking in all of that. Except, he didn’t. 

The line of protesters had made his stomach churn. Their hatred towards those who were different from them caused his blood to boil and his hands to clench into fists of rage. He might be a demon, and of course he didn’t remember much about Heaven before he fell...was tossed out for being at the wrong place at the wrong time, but he knew what kind of people were allowed into Heaven and which ones weren’t. He knew pure evil when he saw it. Those “religious” folks were radiating hate and evil. If anyone were going to be cast out of Heaven and thrown down to the likes of Hastur and Beelzebub, it was going to be that lot. Not the ones proudly marching down the street holding hands, sharing kisses, and showing off their loving families for the whole of London to see. 

And in the middle of it all, had been Aziraphale. His bright smile stretching from ear to ear as he held up his (miraculously made) sign proclaiming: “ _ GOD is LOVE! Free Angel Hugs! _ ” Where he’d even found a rainbow colored, pipe cleaner halo to wear above his head, Crowley couldn’t begin to imagine. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the joy that glowed brighter than the sun around Aziraphale. The way he’d blush all the way to the tips of his ears when a couple would squeeze him between them in a hug, planting noisy kisses to his cheeks and complimenting him on his fashion sense and halo. 

More than once, Crowley would stand by his side as they strolled along the crowded street, one arm protectively around Aziraphale’s waist, both to keep from being separated and to keep him sheltered from the vile wrench of humanity throwing their propaganda of hate at them. Crowley would sneer his most wicked and threatening sneer at them, and watch in satisfaction as swarms of gnats suddenly fell upon them. A few even found their shoelaces, not tied together as a pair on their respective feet, but tied to the pair next to them. He’d done whatever he could to shield his angel from the hate of bigots, to keep their words from dampening the excitement and love Aziraphale felt. 

Apparently, he hadn’t done a good enough job. Not if Aziraphale was now sitting in his arm chair, worrying over whether two people in love were going to be sent to Hell simply because of  _ who _ they chose to love. Maybe he could go back out and ensure there was sugar and water dumped into all their gas tanks. Slither into their homes and steal only their left shoe from every pair, except their galoshes -- in which, he chuckles to himself, he’ll take the right one. Or perhaps even --

“You know what phrase I have always been fond of?” Asked Aziraphale, drawing Crowley out of his diabolical plans to greatly inconvenience all the protesters that darkened his angel’s mood. 

Crowley looked up, one brow arched in question as he waited for Aziraphale to continue.

“‘ _ Make Love _ ’,” the words were carried on the back of a sigh. “It’s so beautiful a concept. Two people coming together, as close as any two people can. Building trust in each other. The tenderness, the gentle proclamations of their devotion to each other. It’s sacred, in a way, I’d say. It sounds far better than the other terms used…”

“What, like  _ fuck _ ,” croaked Crowley, suddenly shifting in place and trying hard to settle his frantically beating heart. How in the world did they get onto a topic like this? Why was it  _ Aziraphale _ that was bringing all of it up? “Bumping uglies? Bedsheet tango? Get laid?”

Aziraphale looked up, disappointment and disapproval written all over his face. He huffed softly, shaking his head. “Must you be so crass?” 

It was an out, whether Aziraphale knew it or not, he’d just given Crowley a chance to regain his footing and build up his cool indifference again. With feigned innocence, Crowley shrugged a shoulder and smirked. “It’s what I do.” 

Not that it mattered, since the angel seemed bent on continuing his train of thought. He seemingly ignored Crowley’s response and said, with his shoulders back and head held high, “If you must know, I meant ‘sex’. Such an impersonal word to use for an act like that.”

It’s common belief that neither angels nor demons need to breathe. In a sense, this belief is accurate. Were Crowley and Aziraphale in their natural forms, they wouldn’t need to breathe, or worry about a racing heart, or other needs and urges that a typical human has. Corporeal forms are fickle things, though. They have beating hearts that pump blood through veins, all the same organs, in all the same places, and require oxygen to survive. A corporeal form is, as much as anything else, a human body in need of all the basic human necessities. 

So to assume that Crowley wouldn’t need to draw in a steadying breath would be a falsehood. 

He did. 

Very much.

Crowley’s mind raced, his heart trying hard to take the lead. The fact that the word was said with such casualness, almost flippant, had him wondering just how or why Aziraphale didn’t so much as blink when he said it. Not the slightest bit of rosy pink dusted across his cheeks. Nothing. 

“I suppose,” Aziraphale continued absently, completely unaware of the circuits currently frying within Crowley’s brain, “It shouldn’t have to all be about something special. Humans are known to fall into bed together for no other reason than to release stress. Still…” 

The room fell into silence after that. Crowley hoped that it would be the end of the conversation. That they could move on to other topics like, why were ducks stupid enough to continue eating bread crumbs, when it’s been proven their bodies cannot digest them, leading to the birds ultimate demise. Or, if Crowley were supremely lucky, he could get Aziraphale to go off on a tangent about Mary Shelley being the mother of science-fiction genre and should be respected as such. 

He’d just poured himself another glass of scotch and taken a long sip of it when Aziraphale spoke up yet again. 

“Have  _ you _ ever made love before, Crowley?” 

Crowley learned that day, sadly, that alcohol does not simply burn pleasantly down one's throat as it makes its way down to the stomach, but also burns worse than the hottest Hellfire when shot out the nose in surprise. Coughing and gagging, he quickly miracled away the alcohol spilled across Aziraphale’s rug and coffee table, his eyes prickling and burning as he struggled to pull air into his lungs again. 

At least Aziraphale had the decency to look concerned. 

“No,” Crowley coughed, shaking his head, “No, Angel. I’ve never made love before.” He cleared his throat, setting his glass down before he dropped it. “Like you said, it’s sacred between two people in love. I’m surprised I’m not bursting into flames just talking about it. Why are we even having this conversation? We’re not! This conversation ceases to exist.” 

Again, Aziraphale seemingly ignored Crowley’s agitation. He sighed heavily, a sorrowful shadow falling across his face. “No, neither have I. I think I should like to try it though, just once.”

A lump formed in Crowley’s throat, threatening to strangle him. Something kept niggling at the back of his brain, a thought that he’d long ago given up hope on. It wouldn’t be possible, of course. Aziraphale had said it himself back when they were trying to stop the world from ending, “ _ a demon and an angel, probably explode. _ ” Didn’t mean Crowley couldn’t think about it, though. Couldn’t imagine what it’d be like to have Aziraphale for himself, keep him safe and sated and never want for anything. 

Trying for nonchalance, Crowley sniffed once and pulled his sunglasses back on. 

“What? Mr. Wilde not much for making love?” He quipped, making sure his words dripped with sarcasm and arrogance. Just to get a rise out of the angel. Anything to keep from making a complete fool of himself. “Always seemed the type more interested in something fast and hard, if you asked me.” 

Aziraphale’s head finally shot up at that, his eyes flashing with something Crowley couldn’t quite name. He watched as Aziraphale stood quickly from his chair, book forgotten and falling carelessly to the floor in his hast. “I don’t know why you always insist on bringing that up. It was none of your business then, and it continues to be none of your business now. Oh...never mind about the whole thing!” 

“You’re the one who brought it all up!” 

“Yes. And I’ll be the one to put an end to it. So, just, never mind. As you said, this conversation ceases to exist. Now if you’ll excuse me...I...I have  _ things _ I must tend to.” He turned quickly, already starting to make his way further into the bookshop. No doubt to hide himself away and bury himself in his books for comfort.

Crowley felt his fear and shame rising as he watched, frozen in place. “Angel --” 

“Besides,” Aziraphale spun on his heels, turning to pin Crowley with a look that could only be read as devastation. “It isn’t as if you’ve never, how did you put it? Fucked? I’m sure you’re well versed in meaningless entanglements with people! What with your love affair with that Mars fellow.” 

“Mercury.”

“Oh! Whatever his name was! He was all you talked about for over a decade! Now I can’t even get into the car with you without being reminded of how you and he...that you…” Aziraphale let out a frustrated cry and turned his back to Crowley once more. 

The pit that had been forming in Crowley’s stomach earlier twisted and clenched, growing twice as big and twice as heavy. Aziraphale wore his emotions on his sleeve, that was true enough, but the inner workings and thoughts that swirled around in his head were hidden from Crowley and always had been. Except for when Aziraphale allowed them to be seen, of course. Right then, Crowley was beyond baffled at the sudden change that happened in front of him. 

Something had happened in the space between one breath and the next. Aziraphale was clearly upset about  _ something _ , Crowley just didn’t know what. He’d only been teasing about the angel’s love for Oscar Wilde and their friendship. At least, he thought he had been. In all honesty, he didn’t know what all went on between the two. All he knew was that he felt sick any time he thought about what they got up to while he was off managing mischief as it were, and Aziraphale was in London tending to his new bookshop. Crowley had hated Oscar and the way Aziraphale’s face lit up any time he came into the room or someone mentioned him. Hated the way Aziraphale would go on and on and on about him, as if he’d been the one who hung the moon and all the stars in the night sky! 

Fine! If he were to be completely honest with himself, Crowley was jealous. Had always been jealous of anyone who struck Aziraphale’s fancy. Crowley had, at one point, even considered setting fire to that  _ oh-so-discreet-gentleman’s-club _ the angel had taken to so much, just so those men would keep their hands off Aziraphale. In fact, Crowley was the reason the Gavotte went out of style for good. 

The sound of the rarely used back door leading up to the flat above Aziraphale’s shop startled Crowley enough to bring him to his feet. He tripped over a stack of books, knocking his shin into the corner of a step-stool and half hobbled-half scurried to try and catch up. Whatever was bothering his angel, it was enough to make him retreat upstairs, into an area that -- as far as Crowley knew -- rarely, if ever, saw any occupants whatsoever. In the several centuries that little old bookshop had been sitting on that particular corner, Crowley was certain he could count on one hand the number of times he’d been up to Aziraphale’s flat. It came to a resounding Once. And even so, he never made it past the foyer. 

He scrambled up the stairs, tumbling into the foyer with a quiet huff. 

Aziraphale was pacing in his sitting room as he wrung his hands together and muttered to himself. Crowley took a moment to cast a quick glance around the wide open space of the flat, half expecting to find something holy that would fry him on sight. What he found instead were more books, scattered loose leaf papers, forgotten mugs with spoons still in them, and more than just a couple of dust bunnies. Aziraphale might not spend much time up there, but it was still cozy. Warm and lived in. Nothing like Crowley’s minimalist flat, with its cold concrete walls and floors and sparse furnishings. Aziraphale’s flat radiated safety and security. 

“Alright, angel,” Crowley finally puffed as he cautiously took a few steps further into the flat. “What is wrong, now? What’s got you all --” 

The speed at which Aziraphale spun around to face him had Crowley suddenly rethinking his hesitant approach. It was the red that was starting to rim around those pale blue eyes, glittering with unshed tears, that had him truly drawing up short, though. 

“Why are you always so  _ convinced _ that I was in love with Oscar?” cried Aziraphale. His voice crackled on the name, wavering gently with the ebb and flow of his emotions. “I wasn’t  _ in love  _ with him! Ever since the start you’ve always...you’ve always just assumed that he and I were...that we…” 

Crowley’s heart -- which he would adamantly deny having to anyone who dared to believe that he did -- clenched painfully in his chest. It was true, what Aziraphale said. Crowley had always teased and heckled and harassed Aziraphale about his relationship with the author. 

“Angel, look, I--”

“It wasn’t  _ like that _ , Crowley! It never had been! We were friends, yes. Close friends, yes. He became someone I could turn to during those times where you’d be gone for months, or years!” 

His poor angel had opened a floodgate, completely unprepared for how to stop it. “I never loved him! Not like  _ that _ ! Once, only  _ once _ , did I nearly engage with him in a biblical sense, and only then it was to fulfill some corporeal curiosity in me. To see if it could help me to forget that...that he wasn’t the one I wanted. Not really, anyway. He wasn’t the one I pictured in my mind when I imagined getting to experience such an act for the first time!” Aziraphale’s eyes dropped to his still fidgeting fingers and he continued in barely a whisper. “Not who I wanted to possibly make love to me for the first time.” 

Something seemed to have a tight hold on Crowley’s chest. Compressing it and keeping him from being able to breathe properly. His tongue suddenly felt too big for his mouth and far too dry. Puzzle pieces were slowly slotting themselves together in his brain. The edge pieces first, just to clear them out of the way. 

“What are you saying, angel?” He finally managed to croak out past the vice grip on his throat. 

“I’m saying…” Aziraphale trailed off, turning as if to start moving further into the room, nervous energy nearly causing the lights to flicker. 

Crowley watched him take a fortifying breath before turning back again to face him again. 

“I’m saying that I never used to think anything was worth falling from Grace for. But if I’m to fall because...because in this male presenting form I happen to...to be in love with another being in a male presenting form, then so be it! I don’t care!” 

The words tumbled off Aziraphale’s lips and he quickly shook his head as he continued. 

“And I  _ know _ you don’t believe me, I’m an angel, a being of Love to begin with, but...this is  _ different _ . A different kind of love, I think. I...that is to say…” Aziraphale struggled to pull in another deep breath, clearly in the hopes that it would keep him from stammering over his words more than he already was. “Well if you must know, I...I’m in love with you. Have been for centuries now, honestly.” 

Crowley felt like the grip on his chest had tightened and then proceeded to punch him over and over again as hard as possible right in the sternum. He stared, unblinking, forgetting for the moment how to breathe. 

Aziraphale was oblivious. 

“I think about you daily,” he continued, back to pacing his flat and wringing his hands together. “I find little things to share with you or tuck away because they remind me of you. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of eternity by your side. Because if I’m to fall over this, then so be it.” With a sudden burst of certainty, Aziraphale turned his pale blue eyes back to meet with Crowley’s. When he spoke again, the words were gentle, sincere. Spoken just for him, and not God nor Satan nor anyone else could steal them away from him. 

“For you, Crowley, oh for you dear I’d fall a thousand times over just to be able to call you mine and keep you by my side.”

A strangled sob like sound filled the air between them, and distantly Crowley realized the sound had come from himself. His best friend in all of creation had just rendered him beyond speechless, leaving him to stand there in the middle of the floor completely gobsmacked. His mouth opened and closed several times, though no coherent words could be found amidst the stammering noises he made. 

For all that Crowley desperately tried to make people believe he was the most demonic of all the demon-y demons Hell could ever create, somewhere deep inside him there truly was just a bit of goodness left in him. Aziraphale had found it straight off, because of course he did. It was a part of himself Crowley had always refused to accept; a part he kept hidden behind the fear of what Hell would do to him if they found out he wasn’t as diabolical or evil as he tried to make himself out to be (in truth, he was rather bad at being a demon), and behind his fragile bitterness over being cast out of Heaven. He’d asked questions, that had been nearly bad enough to get him tossed to the curb. It was the mix-up of him being in the wrong place at the wrong time, surrounded by the wrong people, that sent him on his freestyle dive into that boiling pool of sulfur. His goodness had been buried deep, taking with it his ability to love. 

Except, it hadn’t. Not really. 

Aziraphale had been there by his side for the last 6000 years. The angel had taught him slowly what it meant to trust someone again, to not be afraid to question things. Crowley suddenly couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps that ‘ _ reluctant fondness _ ’ he’d always felt for Aziraphale was something else, something deeper. The way Aziraphale described it, it had to be. After all, how many times had Crowley found himself wandering through ancient, forgotten bookshops in the far regions of the world, only to show back up on Aziraphale’s front steps holding a parcel of books he’d been sure the angel didn’t already have? The number of times he’d managed to get his hands on a rare misprinted Bible (and would risk burning his fingers off just to get it back to Aziraphale)? Had it been love or fear for their lives that had Crowley coming back time and again before the Notpocalypse, begging the angel to go off with him, together? 

Crowley had rescued Aziraphale more times than he could count, and each time he’d told himself it was purely selfish measures that made him do it; he was too old to try to break in a new angel, and certainly too stubborn to try and make a new best friend. Keeping Aziraphale from being discorporated had been his selfish plan to keep him all for himself. 

Another puzzle piece suddenly slotted into place. 

A demon capable of falling in love with an angel was a dangerous thing. A demon capable of feeling love  _ period _ was a dangerous thing. If Hell found out, well, actually they couldn’t do anything to him now about it really. Not since their switcheroo to avoid utter destruction. Still, it was a terrifying thought. The thought of Aziraphale giving up Heaven for him, though? Risking to fall because he’d found himself quite in love with a demon? That was possibly the most terrifying thought of all. Even if Aziraphale hadn’t himself been very good at being an angel most days. He was, after all, the first being to ever lie to the Almighty, and even though he was terrible at lying, continued to do so through the centuries. Hardly angelic behavior, really. 

Something inside Crowley snapped, a little bit of Hellish influence crumbling away when he heard the way Aziraphale continued on, voice trembling and self-depreciating. Carrying on about how he was sure Crowley didn’t feel the same about him, and how it was perfectly fine that he didn’t, how could he, after all? There was nothing special about him that Crowley could possibly find even the least bit endearing. So on and so forth, until Crowley finally closed the space between them, feet moving on their own accord, hands rising up without his permission to capture Aziraphale’s face in his palms and lips meeting in a cautious but desperate kiss before his brain could talk them out of it. 

Aziraphale gasped in surprise, a quiet squeak escaping him as he was backed up against a wall and held in place as Crowley continued to claim him with a kiss. In that moment, Crowley didn’t care if he was suddenly smote down where he stood, so long as he could keep feeling Aziraphale’s body against him, those sighs and timid noises his angel made whenever Crowley dared to let just the tip of his tongue trace the seam of Aziraphale’s lips still drifting to his ears. 

He didn’t know how to say the words back. Wasn’t even sure he could, honestly. The words didn’t matter right then, because Crowley was sure that the old adage of  _ actions speak louder than words _ was true, and if it was true, then he was going to show Aziraphale just how much he loved him back. 

Slowly, painfully so, Crowley moved from kissing Aziraphale’s soft, warm lips. Eyes closed, he leaned his head in, breath coming out in soft puffs as he nosed against a cheek, dotting gentle kisses along a gentle jaw line until his lips were brushing across Aziraphale’s ear. 

“Angel…” he murmured, “Oh, angel…”

“Crowley…?”

“Tell me to stop. If this isn’t what you want, stop me.” The words were more a plea than a demand. Warm hands clasped his waist gently, and for a moment Crowley feared he’d be pushed away. Instead, he found himself being pulled just a slight bit closer. 

“Please...I do. It’s always been you, my dear…” 

“Don’t,” Crowley paused to take a deep breath, pulling back to rest his head against Aziraphale’s. One of them was trembling, or perhaps both of them were, or maybe it was the earth shuddering under the impact of two beings who shouldn’t be able to love each other finally accepting that they were in love with each other and were now, after all this time, ready to do something about it. “Please don’t say it unless you mean it…” 

Aziraphale nudged his nose against Crowley’s, his arms wrapping up and around him in a firm embrace, as if they were suddenly the only thing holding the other up. 

“Oh, Crowley. I never thought...I…”

Leaning back in, Crowley captured the words as they left Aziraphale’s lips. He wanted this. Wanted his angel in a way he’d never wanted anything else in his very long existence. He wanted to learn every inch of the perfect being in his arms, to be with him in any sense he could get. Crowley wanted to be everything Aziraphale ever needed. They may not have been in love with each other for the past 6,000 years, but for however long it had been, it’d been too long being repressed and buried and ignored like some kind of annoyance or inconvenience. 

Something needed to be done about it, now. 

Crowley felt a shiver race up his spine when Aziraphale’s hands shifted up his back and came to rest at the point where wing should meet body. And hidden somewhere in a shift of dimension, they did. And they knew that Aziraphale’s hands were gently holding their base. The tingling at the spot told Crowley his wings wanted to be let free. Maybe Aziraphale would run his fingers through them, remove the loose feathers and smooth down the ruffled ones for him. It’d been so long since anyone had helped him groom his wings, he’d rather given up on even trying. 

He pulled in a sharp breath before moving to trail kisses across Aziraphale’s cheek, jaw, neck. Anywhere he could get his lips on bare skin. Skin that tasted of warm honey, sunshine, clouds, and just a hint of earth. It was intoxicating; more so than the finest wine or the oldest whiskey. 

“Angel…” Crowley took a moment to kiss a spot just under Aziraphale’s ear and revel in how it caused Aziraphale to gasp softly and cling to him all the tighter. “Angel, say it? Please say it? I don’t...I can’t... _ please _ ? I’m begging you, don’t make me have to ask it...I--” 

Somehow, despite not even Crowley himself knowing quite what he’d been begging Aziraphale to say, Aziraphale seemed to know exactly what Crowley was asking of him. His hands clutched at Crowley’s shirt, hanging on for dear life as he brought his own lips down to kiss across the shell of Crowley’s ear. 

“Make love to me, Crowley,” he murmured, voice full of want and love and need. “Oh, my dear Crowley,  _ please _ make love to me…” 

Crowley gave a strangled sob as he captured Aziraphale’s mouth one more time. He didn’t know where Aziraphale’s bedroom was, but he pulled and tugged him along anyway, smiling as Aziraphale chuckled against his lips softly. With a click of fingers behind his back, Crowley found he didn’t need to worry about trying to find the bedroom anymore after all. Aziraphale, seemingly no longer concerned about performing frivolous miracles, had taken them there between one blink and the next. 

There wasn’t time to take in the room. Crowley would look around at all the books and blankets and empty tea cups later. Right at that moment, nothing about the room mattered except for Aziraphale, and the bed he was slowly, gently,  _ reverently _ laying him back down to. Part of him chanted in the back of his mind,  _ do it do it do it. _ Urging him to use a miracle of his own to vanish their clothes and sink himself into the willing angel under him. The other part, the louder, more persistent, the  _ better  _ part of him, though, insisted to do this right.  _ Take your time. You’ve waited this long, what’s a few more minutes, hours? Do it right. Do it right. Do it right.  _

Strangely, that part of him sounded suspiciously like what he was certain he remembered God’s voice to sound like. 

A soft glow of golden light warmed the room as Crowley stared down at Aziraphale. Pale blue eyes blown wide, his love shining through and scorching Crowley to his core. So open and vulnerable, it was almost too much to handle. In that moment, in that room, on that bed with the light just so, Aziraphale looked so angelic, more than he ever had before in their 6,000 years. 

_ I don’t want to wake up. If this is all just a dream, please Someone, don’t ever wake me up… _

Aziraphale’s eyes brightened, his smile spreading while still being soft and shy. 

“You aren’t dreaming,” he whispered, hand coming up to cup Crowley’s jaw gently, “You can’t be. This feels too real to be a dream and I don’t sleep…”

Crowley didn’t realize he’d spoken his thoughts out loud until Aziraphale had answered. Heat rose up on his cheeks as he dipped down to kiss his way from ear down the cord of Aziraphale’s neck, and settling on the place where neck met shoulder. That intoxicating scent filling his head again, making him dizzy and giddy. He nipped and kissed and lapped at the skin there until he finally needed more. 

Deft fingers worked to remove the various layers that Aziraphale wore; jacket first nudged from his shoulders, making them both huff with an awkward chuckle when it became trapped between Aziraphale and the bed. Crowley pulled back to sit on his knees, coaxing Aziraphale to sit up just long enough for him to continue his exploration. With the jacket finally gone and dropped to the floor beside the bed, Crowley moved to the buttons of the faded and worn velvet waistcoat. With each button slipped free, his heart beat faster. He could feel Aziraphale’s eyes on him and nearly stuttered to a halt when soft fingers removed his sunglasses, then his loose tie, before starting in on the buttons of his dark shirt. 

Together they worked to free the other from their shirts, each marveling at every new inch of skin exposed to them. Aziraphale so soft and pale, his skin smooth and clear. He was perfection in every sense of the word. Crowley paused, sitting back again just to admire the sight in front of him. He’d never thought a day would come where he’d ever find himself filled with love for another being. And the thought of someone else, especially not an angel of the Lord, could love him despite who and what he was, was incomprehensible. 

Crowley ran his fingers down Aziraphale’s chest, chasing the gooseflesh that sprang up across bare flesh. As Aziraphale settled himself back against the pillows again, Crowley moved to taste more of that soft skin, breathing across Aziraphale as he went. 

“I want to kiss every inch of you. Memorize every spot that makes you dizzy, takes your breath away, learn how you move,” he kissed across the right clavicle, “and taste,” a swipe of his tongue at the dip just below the Adam's apple, “and sound,” a gentle nip and lap to the rosy little bud of a nipple, “and feel. I want to spend the rest of eternity…”  _ with you. Like this. Please let me keep us like this? _

Aziraphale’s response was carried on the back of a shaky sigh, the “Yes…” nearly lost in its softness. 

Time seemed to be slowing the more skin Crowley explored with his mouth and Aziraphale traced sigils and constellations across Crowley’s shoulders, using faint freckles as a guide. They learned each other’s body slowly, like a prayer and worship, and when it came time for more layers to be peeled away, Crowley did it the old fashioned way. The human path to discovery. Fabric rustling as it slid down hips and legs and pooled at ankles until shoes and socks were properly dealt with. It would have taken too long to slither out of his own trousers, and with Aziraphale lying exposed and more vulnerable than ever, Crowley didn’t want to waste that time. One minor miracle on his own part wouldn’t hurt. 

Hands grasped and slid over skin, a contrast to the cool sheets under them as they held each other close to learn the other in an all too together Biblical sense. Bodies pressed flush, breath shared between them, selfishly catching whatever words of love and devotion tumbled from their lips. The sheet twisted around their legs as Crowley would shift them, letting Aziraphale’s weight hold him down on the bed before Aziraphale would roll them back again. Neither fought for control, it was the ultimate in giving and receiving, and when Crowley did finally find himself within Aziraphale, they both found that nothing had ever felt so right in all the world. That final piece of a puzzle slotting into place to reveal the beautiful completed picture they’d worked so hard to create. 

Crowley’s hands gently slid over Aziraphale’s arms, moving them into place above Aziraphale’s head and linking their fingers together as they continued to make love with each other. When they tipped over that razor’s edge they’d been teetering on, it was with a sob of relief and love, Crowley’s arms wrapped around Aziraphale’s body, his head buried in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale’s own arms and legs entangled around Crowley’s neck and waist. Holding him as close as possible, refusing to let him move even an inch until they were both weak and trembling. Even then, once Crowley had fallen to lay beside Aziraphale, Crowley soon found himself with an armful of clinging angel. 

An angel that was quite suddenly crying into Crowley’s chest. 

Panic rose up in him, Crowley instantly chastised himself for being so selfish. He’d told Aziraphale to stop him! Why hadn’t the angel listened? Now it was too late and Aziraphale clearly regretted his decision to take Crowley, a  _ demon _ , into his bed. Tense and hurt, Crowley tried to push Aziraphale away from him, only to have arms tighten around him in reply.

“Please...please d-don’t...don’t leave me?” cried Aziraphale, his voice soft and muffled by Crowley’s chest. “I don’t want you to...to leave me.”

“Aziraphale. You didn’t want--”

“I did!” 

Wide, bright blue eyes suddenly met his, wet with tears and red around the edges again. A trembling hand came up to hold Crowley’s face tenderly. 

“I did. I do! I...I don’t know  _ why _ I’m crying, Crowley. I...I’ve never felt anything like this before. For the first time ever I could feel how much  _ love _ you have to give that you keep hidden. That it’s for  _ me _ . I...I could feel you, Crowley. Your light, your warmth...it...it was overwhelming and beautiful and oh Crowley! Now I’ve made you cry, too!”

“‘M not  _ crying _ ! Demons don’t  _ cry _ , angel!” 

A thumb brushed over Crowley’s cheek, taking with it the small streak of wetness rolling down from his eye. Aziraphale’s smile was as soft as his voice as he murmured, “You’re no more a demon than I am an angel, my dear. Not anymore. Look…” 

Crowley glanced to where Aziraphale was looking and froze. At some point, their wings had both come back into existence, but instead of the blinding white of Heavenly plumes and soul devouring blackness of Hellish creation, there was a matching pair. Two sets of wings, fluttering against each other, both an identical shade of blue-grey. The color the clouds take just as a summer thunderstorm is rolling in but the sky before them is still bright and clear. 

“Wha...I…” Crowley looked back down to Aziraphale. “You...you’ve  _ fallen _ !”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Aziraphale mused, gently stroking his fingers along the feathers at the base of Crowley’s wings. “I don’t think I’ve quite fallen. Not exactly. Perhaps I’ve just...wandered ever so vaguely downward, to meet you in the middle?”

“But I...I can’t be forgiven. How is this…I definitely shouldn’t be forgiven  _ now _ , after what we just did, so…”

“ _ Love _ , Crowley. Hell has no place for a creature possessing love.” 

Crowley watched as Aziraphale swallowed awkwardly and nibbled at his bottom lip nervously. Oh how Crowley wanted to do the nibbling for him. 

“We’re neither angel nor demon. It’s as you said, we don’t have a side anymore. We’re on  _ our _ side, now. This is proof of that. And my love,” Aziraphale paused just long enough to lean in for another slow, gentle kiss, “to be on Our Side with you, I would still fall a thousand times over. I  _ love you _ , Crowley. With all that I am.”

Wetness tickled at Crowley’s cheeks, clinging to his lashes as he dove to bury his face in Aziraphale’s chest. Maybe the words weren’t so scary anymore. Maybe now that the secret is out, Crowley could say them. “I...I love you, Aziraphale. With all that I am.” 

And so the not-a-demon and not-an-angel held each other close, whispering their praises of love to each other as they slowly slipped off to sleep. If Crowley had taken the time to look around Aziraphale’s bedroom when they’d appeared in there all those hours before, he would have found, propped in a corner against a stack of books, with a silly little rainbow colored pipe cleaner halo perched atop it carefully, a handmade sign, one that early had once read “GOD is LOVE” was shifting and changing on its own. The words sliding to form something new, something different. A blessing of sorts from a God who had never quite forsaken Crowley, and had perhaps stacked the cards just a bit to bring the pair together in the end. 

“ _ Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind. And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.  _ \-  A Midsummer Night's Dream (I, i, 234) ”


End file.
